Over the last month I've discovered a whole new world of storytimes. There's yoga storytime and library storytime followed by playtime. There's something to do nearly every day without even boarding a bus. These free activities have had a tremendous impact on Michael Alexander, who is interacting with his peers and toddlers, mostly toddlers. I hate to miss one, as we are right now while Michael Alexander takes a rare nap that's allowing me to bang out by personal finance column and cobble something here. Most infants and toddlers that attend these mixed playgroups are accompanied by nannies. In the East Village there are more moms and dads than there are in the West Village, where nannies replace parents. But there are still more nannies in general, often nannies that accompany the moms. I had hoped these sessions would both boost Michael Alexander's social development and help me meet other moms (or dads) who've opted (or been forced by unemployment) to stay at home and raise their babies. It's certainly helped him grow, as he interacts well with the others, save for his not-so-uncommon fascination with hair-pulling. We even had a playdate with one his fellow baby yogis yesterday. I've met some moms, to mixed results in boosting my mommy confidence, profile and general understanding of mommyhood in the city.
The nice thing about Manhattan (and I'm sure some neighborhoods in Brooklyn) is that it's the anti-suburbia when it comes to mommyhood. Storytime reflects our unique lifestyle, as books and songs about transportation are edited to elevate the MetroCard and reduce the car's status to a vacation rental. Our offspring are cosmopolitan creatures born into a culturally rich landscape that will nurture their aesthetic tastes and a diverse streetscape that will spur a savvy that suburban sprawl can't cultivate. City kids talk about painting and sculpture and theater and opera and open mikes and know not to run into traffic or step too close to the platform. While I wish we lived within walking (or driving, if we had a car) distance to a great shoreline so my son and I could swim and sun, I believe raising a child here is superior to subjecting him to a closed community, even if he'd have a big lawn. Really, he's got his choice of the biggest lawns, from Central Park to Union Square to Tompkins Square to Madison Square. (The last three within quick walking distance.)
As I wonder how these early influences will shape my son's development and future, I'm also trying to figure where I fit in this new and evolving role as mommy. In her new book, Kids or No Kids, Zoe Slater considers interviews she conducted with women across the world. "In today's society, women often choose to have children later in life. New value systems mean that we are pickier about picking a partner, and embrace the lifestyles enabled by financial factors and modern living arrangements. The common denominator for all of us, is to one day confront the question of motherhood. Regardless of age or location, motherhood is like a sisterhood that bonds us," Slater writes. Manhattan is clearly representative of "today's society" in terms of waiting to have kids. A little over a week away from feting my 40th, I'm one of the "young" moms in these storytime groups. Sure some of my fellow moms, I learned just this week, are raising a baby with their *new* partner or spouse nearly two decades after raising their first with their ex. Still, we're all facing the same challenges of a digital parenting age where our babies are born masters at navigating our iPhone touch screens.
What Slater fails to address is how these demographic differences are truly divisive. Sure I can relate to suburban moms on many matters from sleepless nights to teething pains, but the challenges of being a mother in Manhattan are unique and can be more isolating than a house tucked away on a quiet cul-de-sac. In most suburban, country or low-income communities, moms are generally in the same socioeconomic situation, save for a few hundred grand in mounting debt for many of the suburbanites *living* well beyond their means. Manhattan is a mix of struggling artist moms and dads who tuck their toddlers into a nook in a one-room walkup -- to those who spa and shop and socialize while nannies tote their toddlers to the same free storytimes -- to everyone in between. It's tough being trapped in the middle (is that how we define class in this city?) where your sensibilities, academic and artistic achievements, professional prowess (even when it's on hold) and choice to mommy (in varying degrees) bridge the real estate and childcare gaps. Motherhood is no more a sisterhood than a shared career goal or haircolor. In fact, motherhood is the source of the same -- or more severe -- competitive strife that pits women against other women in the workplace or the salon. And in this city, it's a struggle on steroids as the haves are so preoccupied with the have-mores that we often forget the have-nots.
As I try to do best by my son, I strive to put my plight into perspective. I can't shake brownstone envy, especially when I take Michael Alexander to his pediatrician's office on a picturesque Village block where a nice family home (a renovated late 1800's townhouse) just sold for $12 million. Mike and I want more than anything (other than to have a healthy, happy son and a blissful marriage) to be famous novelists or magazine editors. Famous authors with a Village townhouse, of course. Meantime, I'll try to not complain about my life as one of the haves, even by a New York perspective. I hate when I compare myself with the have-mores, especially when I'm confident they're not nearly as content as I when it comes to my son, my husband, my family and my appreciation of this city's myriad perks, many cheap or free. I'm comforted by conversations with like-minded moms, who agree that the backdrop of storytime -- the tales of babies sleeping through the night and sleeping in until mommy-only yoga -- are clearly a Grimm reality.
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